


A Fair Chance

by moonshoespotterr (nicolem_85)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 10:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolem_85/pseuds/moonshoespotterr
Summary: Roll up!  Roll up to Britain’s first wizarding funfair, complete with high-flying rides, amazing acrobatics, weird and wonderful animals, fortune telling and, of course, all the food you can eat!Harry was looking forward to visiting the fair with Ron and Hermione.  That was until Draco Malfoy and a mysterious fortune-teller changed his plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for 2017 Dralentine's Day on Tumblr. Enjoy!

Harry was not having a good time. It’ll be fun, they’d said. Just give him a chance, they’d said. But no, Draco Malfoy was still as big a prat as ever. Never mind that so far Harry could only seen the back of his stupid, unnaturally blond head from where he was waiting for them by the ticket booth. Once the git eventually turned around, he was sure that he’d see the trademark Malfoy scowl, the look of disdain that instinctively made Harry’s hands curl into fists.

If you had told Harry that one day he’d be attending a wizarding funfair with Hermione, Ron and Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed in your face, given you a pat on the head and suggested you take a trip to St Mungo’s. Because it was ridiculous. Only apparently, according to Hermione and Ron, it wasn’t. Apparently it was completely normal to invite your ex-Hogwarts rival out for an evening at the fair and only tell your best friend about it right at the last second.

“Oh, and by the way, Harry. I’ve invited Draco along tonight,” Hermione had said nonchalantly as she’d grabbed a handful of floo powder from the mantelpiece.

“Uh hu- Wait, what?!” Harry had choked out, the hand that was uselessly trying to pat down the mess of dark hair on his head pausing in mid air; he was sure that he had misheard her.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Draco Malfoy. You know, tall, blond-“

“-Little ferrety face,” Ron interjected.

Harry stared, dumbfounded, his brain not quite catching up with the words he was hearing.

“Come on, mate,” Ron added, chucking on his coat and winding a bright orange Chudley Cannons scarf around his neck. “He’s actually a pretty decent guy once you get over the creepy tattoo and long history of mutual hatred.” Ron grinned but Harry was in no mood for jokes.

This was exactly what he had been worried about ever since Hermione had come back from her first day at the Department of Mysteries. She’d been raving about how amazing Malfoy was, how smart and talented, and how much he’d changed since school. Bullshit. Then they’d started hanging out after work, going to the pub together, and soon Ron had been dragged in too. He started saying things like “he’s not so bad, I guess” and “Harry, you’ll never guess what Draco said last night”. Traitor. Harry was the only one who could see through Malfoy’s little game. Well, he hadn’t figured out what exactly the game was yet but he was sure that Malfoy was plotting something.

Hermione sighed. “When are you finally going to get over this stupid rivalry? It’s been nearly ten years, for Merlin’s sake! You’d get along with him if you gave him a chance.”

She looked pleadingly at him and Harry sulkily crossed his arms in resignation. It’s not as though he had anything better to do, he supposed. After all, the last thing he wanted was to sit around in Grimmauld Place by himself all evening, surrounded by gloom and dust and old memories.

So here he was. Walking up to the fair and glaring daggers at the back of Malfoy’s head for having the nerve to come crashing back into Harry’s life and steal his best friends from under his nose.

“Draco!” Hermione called out and Malfoy turned around.

Instead of the familiar scowl that Harry had been expecting, Malfoy’s face split into a beaming smile. Harry shivered. It was just because the expression looked so alien on Malfoy’s face, he told himself. Not because of the way the evening sun caught the grey in Malfoy’s eyes, turning them silver, or the way the casual black jeans lengthened his legs and clung in all the right places, or the way the fabric of his shirt rippled as Malfoy waved, exposing a hint of pale collarbone. Harry frowned and shook his head. He would have to tread carefully; this could all be part of Malfoy’s nefarious plan.

Malfoy stepped forward to greet them, kissing Hermione on one cheek and shaking hands with Ron. Noticing Harry, his smile faded a little and he took a deep breath.

“Potter.” Malfoy held out his hand, eyes no longer warm but wary.

At the gesture, Harry was transported back to a dark September night over a decade ago. I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself. Malfoy’s fragile smile trembled and Harry wondered if he was reliving the same memory. To hell with it, Harry thought, before gripping Malfoy’s surprisingly warm hand in his own and being rewarded with a grateful look from the blond.

“Right then,” Ron coughed, breaking the tense silence. Harry let go of the hand still encased in his and, in an excuse to hide his slightly flushed face, turned away to look at the fair.

It sprawled out in front of them: a myriad of brightly coloured tents advertising petting zoos and fortune tellers, acrobats and contortionists; food stands piled high with butterbeer, pumpkin pasties and - Harry’s mouth salivated - treacle tart! There were sky-high rides with lights flashing vividly as guests sped around on flying motorbikes. Harry was so entranced that he completely missed Hermione talking to him.

Harry tore his eyes away from the bright lights and flashed Hermione a sheepish look. “Sorry, ‘Mione. What was that?”

She rolled her eyes affectionately. “We were just saying that we should have a walk around and see if anything grabs our attention.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

As they set off toward the first of the stands and tents, Harry couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the whole Malfoy situation. Having him with them felt so unnatural and yet natural at the same time. Through the noise and bustle of the fair, he could hear Malfoy talking to Hermione, the rich, aristocratic tone so familiar from his Hogwarts days. Except now, rather than inciting anger, that tone was inciting something else entirely, something deep in Harry’s gut that he couldn’t put a finger on.

“Oh, look!” Hermione gushed suddenly, pointing at a red and white striped tent. “It’s a photo booth. I used to go to them all the time with Mum and Dad.”

“Huh,” Ron grunted, wandering over to the tent. “Reckon it takes proper photos or just those weird standy-still ones Muggles have?”

“Only one way to find out,” Hermione replied with a grin as she marched into the tent, pulling Harry unceremoniously behind her.

Malfoy and Ron filed in behind and only then did Harry realise just how small the tent was. It was no larger than a broomstick cupboard and, as Hermione and Ron fussed around with knuts and sickles, Harry was pushed up against the side wall, a head full of hair in his face and his arms full of a very pointy Malfoy.

“Er…” Harry said, trying not to breathe for fear of falling over.

“Oh, shit… sorry,” Malfoy stammered, a curious blush appearing on his ordinarily pale cheeks.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll just…”

“If I move over here…”

But every movement only served to bring them closer together until Harry was pressed against Malfoy from knee to shoulder. The fresh, fruity scent of Malfoy’s hair wafted into his face and Harry closed his eyes, praying to the four founders that Hermione and Ron would hurry the fuck up before things got even more awkward. He was only human, after all, and he wouldn’t be able to help it if his body decided that it was rather interested in being this close to someone, and a rather nice smelling someone at that, after such a long time.

“Ah, got it!” Ron exclaimed as a disembodied voice spoke.

“Welcome to WizSnaps, the UK’s premium photography booth service. Please be advised that this service is not recommended for those suffering from light-sensitive ailments or curses. Prepare for photograph capture in 3, 2, 1…”

Harry smiled awkwardly. Even after all these years, he still wasn’t quite comfortable with posing for magical photos. I mean, it’s just going to be a 5 second loop of me looking like an idiot, he thought.

The disembodied voice spoke again. “Your photographs are now available for collection. Thank you for using WizSnaps.”

As they piled out of the booth, Ron handed them each a copy of the photo. Harry distractedly pocketed his and took a deep breath, grateful to be out of the confined tent and taking advantage of the fresh air to regain his composure. He followed as Ron and Hermione strolled off and listened as they excitedly discussed what they wanted to do next. He glanced over at Malfoy and frowned in confusion. The blond was staring in horror down at the photo in his hand, his face flushed red with embarrassment. What’s got him so upset, Harry wondered as he pulled out the photo that had been hurriedly stuffed into his pocket. Before he could examine it, however, he heard a rasping voice call out.

“Care to hear you fortune, dear?”

Harry glanced around, trying to place the voice in the busy crowd. His eyes fell upon a shrivelled old witch whose liver-spotted hands were beckoning him over to her. As if caught on an invisible fishing line, Harry weaved through the crowd toward her until he reached a dark, inconspicuous tent, almost unnoticed amongst the brightness of the other stands and stalls. The witch smiled at him encouragingly. Noticing that their friend was no longer behind them, Hermione and Ron turned and followed Harry, Malfoy trailing behind them.

“Fortune telling?” Hermione grimaced. “Harry, you know that divination is nonsense. Don’t you remember Trelawney?”

Harry shrugged. He did remember Trelawney and, from Hermione’s many rants, knew how subjective and inconsistent divination was. But there was something about this witch, about the way she had picked him out of the busy crowd and spoken to him as if right next to his ear.

“I know, Hermione. But I’ve got a feeling about this,” he explained, surer than ever that this was something that he needed to do. “I’ll come find you guys when I’m done.”

Hermione frowned in disapproval but nodded, taking Ron away and further into the fair. Malfoy shot Harry a curious look before following them into the crowd.

Harry turned back to the witch. “So. How does this work then?”

She smiled mysteriously at him and beckoned him forward once more and into the darkness of the tent. Harry coughed as he entered, the air smoky and pungent with the smell of burning herbs, and blinked in the gloom. In the middle of the space he could make out two embroidered chairs seated around a worn, wooden table. The witch gestured to the nearest chair and Harry sat down.

The old witch sat opposite him and her scratchy voice began to echo through the tent.

“You come to see your fortune,  
But seeker, a note of caution,  
These runes see future, present and past,  
But although you see, it may not last,  
For everything has chance to alter,  
So if you want, you must not falter,  
Your future lies within your hand,  
Poor or rich, lowly or grand.”

Goosebumps erupted along Harry’s arms as she spoke. The magic in the words was undeniable. She held out a wrinkled hand and Harry hesitantly reached out, jumping slightly as he met ice-cold skin. The witch raised her other hand and, with an incoherent mumble, dropped a set of what looked like wooden dice on the table. Each had more sides than Harry could count and were carved with strange symbols. The witch examined them intently before speaking.

“Your past was full of sadness and loss, a dark presence haunted your steps and those you trusted used you as a pawn in a greater game.”

Harry huffed. “Well everyone knows that.”

The witch’s next words silenced him.

“Your present is no less full of sadness. Once the apple of the public’s eye, you have retreated to a house of dark and decay, pushing away all but your closest friends. You convince yourself that no one will ever love you for who you are, rather than who they believe you to be, so you lock your heart away.”

Harry felt his eyes prickling. Never had someone laid out so clearly the fears and doubts that had been filling him up for so many years.

“And…” Harry cleared his throat. “What about my future?”

“Your future,” the witch paused, examining the last rune closely. “Your future is what you let it be. I see happiness and love if you would but open yourself to it. But I also see loneliness and despair, if you do not.”

Harry frowned. “What? What kind of amateur fortune telling is that?”

The witch stared at him, her eyes glinting mischievously in the gloom. “Ah,” she croaked. “I see that you might need more than that. A push, maybe? Very well. I will give you a rare gift: a glimpse into your near future. When you leave this place, you will wake far from here and will have a chance to see what could be yours,” she paused, before adding, “if only you would shed the fear of rejection that clings to your very soul.”

And with a gummy grin and a “Four years or so should do it. Good luck, Harry” she disappeared in a poof of smoke.

Harry jumped and coughed away the pungent smoke that rushed to fill his lungs. Had the old witch been serious, he thought, clearing the remaining smoke away with his hand. Will I really see my future? He stood up and faced the exit of the tent. Taking a deep breath and hoping that this wasn’t some gigantic joke, he stepped forward. As the dusty fabric slid over his face, he felt his eyelids droop, his head became heavy on his shoulders and his vision went dark.

\-------

Harry groaned as the early morning light landed upon his face. He had been having the strangest dream, something about Malfoy and fortunes and ferris wheels. Ah well, he thought, stretching out his tired limbs over the silky bed sheets. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been this comfortable! He usually woke up panicked and out of breath, covered in sweat and sweltering in the scratchy sheets. Wait. Scratchy? Harry paused in his stretching. These sheets were the opposite of scratchy! They were divinely soft, light as air against his naked- Naked?! Since when the bloody hell, Harry thought with a frown, did I sleep naked?

Confused, Harry prised open his heavy eyelids and jolted as the remnants of sleep left him in a startling whoosh. This was definitely his room, but not as he remembered it. Rather than the dark, peeling wallpaper that he was used to, the walls were painted a bright, periwinkle blue that seem to gleam in the morning sun. Rather than the threadbare, dusty carpet, his feet met the smooth hardness of wooden floorboards. In the corner of the room - the room he was sure he had left in a state the previous night - piled high with dirty clothes, stood a stunning armoire that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a country mansion.

The more he looked around, the more Harry grew to think that there was something very, very wrong. Unfamiliar clothes and shoes were dotted around the room, paintings that he’d never seen before were hanging on the walls and, even more unnerving, there was the sound of music coming from downstairs.

Beginning to panic, Harry quickly grabbed his wand, threw on a t-shirt and pair of tracksuit trousers that looked as if they belonged to him and tiptoed out onto the landing. The music was louder here and, when he listened closely enough, Harry could just about hear someone moving around downstairs. He inched down the stairs, his wand braced in front of him. As he crept down the last step and into the ground floor hallway of Grimmauld Place, Harry nearly screamed when a voice beside him spoke.

“Good morning.”

He spun around and came face to face with a snake. About four foot in length, the snake was lying in a shallow pool of water inside a giant glass tank. It looked completely unconcerned to see Harry and seemed to think that the whole situation was perfectly normal.

“Er, hello,” Harry replied, keeping his voice quiet in case the person rattling around in his kitchen heard.

“You’re up late,” the snake said, rather disapprovingly. “The other one has been awake for hours.”

Harry frowned. “The other one? Who’s the other one?”

The snake rolled its eyes as if it should be obvious. “The other one. The one with white scales who brings me tasty frogs to eat. Speaking of which… I’m hungry.”

More confused than ever, Harry turned away from the snake. It’d refused to speak any more until Harry brought him breakfast anyway. Instead, he sneaked towards the open kitchen door and peered around the corner into the room. Well I’ve definitely found the source of the banging, Harry thought as he stood there motionless, glued to the spot at the sight of Draco Malfoy waltzing around his kitchen in nothing but a baggy Falmouth Falcons t-shirt and a pair of rather ratty Slytherin pyjama bottoms. And to make things even stranger, it looked as if he was trying to cook.

As if sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Malfoy glanced over from where he was attempting to crack an egg. “Morning, sleepy,” he said with an affectionate smile.

“Have you been up long?”

Feeling like he had to respond but not trusting his voice, Harry shook his head.

“I suppose you needed your rest after last night,” Malfoy said, shooting Harry a filthy grin that left no doubt in Harry’s mind about what last night had entailed. “Sit down then. I’ll make you some coffee.”

Still not quite sure that his voice would be able to do anything but scream, Harry obeyed the strange demand and watched Malfoy amble around his kitchen whilst a million and one thoughts flew around Harry’s head. Malfoy placed a steaming cup of coffee down on the breakfast table and Harry, sipping on autopilot, asked the one question that seemed to make it through the fog of confusion that was his mind.

“How do you know how I like my coffee?”

Malfoy looked at him like he was crazy. “Harry, I’ve been making you coffee for years.”

Harry stared at him, filing away Malfoy’s casual use of his first name for a time when he didn’t feel like he was going mad.

Malfoy’s mocking expression changed to one of concern and he placed a warm hand to Harry’s forehead. “Harry, are you feeling alright? You look terribly pale. Was it another nightmare?”

It must be a nightmare, he thought, there’s no other explanation for what’s happening. Suddenly, Malfoy’s arms slipped around him and Harry froze. Strong hands ran soothingly through his hair and along his back and Harry found himself loosening and relaxing under the pressure. In for a penny, he thought, as he sighed and rested his head against Malfoy’s chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held like this, but there was something about the situation that made him feel safe and secure, like he’d done this a thousand times before. With a last stroke of his hair, Malfoy released him.

“Now, who wants pancakes?”

\-------

Harry had come to a conclusion. Either this was happening entirely in his head and he was locked away somewhere in St Mungo’s or this was real and he didn’t know Draco Malfoy very well at all. Because said person was currently dancing around Harry’s kitchen in pyjamas and making pancakes, all the while singing along to what sounded like Celestina Warbeck. The Malfoy he knew from school, all stuffy and posh and “wait ‘till my father”, was gone and in his place was this... well. Harry wasn’t even sure how to describe him. Whirlwind? Maniac?

After forcing his way through a stack of slightly rubbery pancakes – Malfoy had seemed so pleased with himself that Harry hadn’t the heart to tell him – he remembered the snake’s demand.

“Oh, don’t believe a thing Achilles says,” Malfoy had responded. “I’ve already fed him this morning. He’s just trying to get more food out of you.”

“Achilles? What kind of name is that for a snake?” Harry scoffed.

“I’ll have you know,” said Malfoy with mock indignation, “that Achilles is a perfectly respectable name for a snake. And anyway, it’s your fault for letting me name him.”

“You named him?” Harry questioned.

Malfoy gave him an askance look. “We are a bit slow this morning. I know you told me to fuck your brains out last night but I didn’t know I’d done such a good job,” he said with a smirk. “Yes, although you drew the line at me naming him Salazar! Ron and Hermione thought it hilarious, you living with two snakes.”

At the mention of his friends, Harry started. Of course, he thought. He’d been such an idiot. He should have contacted Ron and Hermione straight away. If anyone would be able to help him figure out what the hell was going on it would be Hermione.

“Er… speaking of Hermione, I’m just going to give her a call and see if she’s home,” Harry said as nonchalantly as he could.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at him. “Ok. I’ll clean up in here while you do that.”

As fast as he could without seeming suspicious, Harry rushed to the living room and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace with a shout of

“Hermione and Ron’s house!” The fireplace swirled emerald green and cleared as a young girl greeted him.

“Hi, Uncle Harry,” she said smiling.

“Uh…” Harry faltered. He had no idea who this person was. Looking at her closer though Harry recognised the bright red hair, the freckly cheeks, the warm brown eyes and prominent front teeth that all told him exactly who she was. “Hi there. Is Mummy there?”

“Ok. She was just getting Hugo up but I’ll get her.” The girl vanished from view but Harry could hear the loud “MUUUUUUM! UNCLE HARRY WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!”

Less than a minute later a familiar brown, bushy head appeared in the fireplace.

“Hi, Harry. How are you?”

Harry paused, wondering where the hell to start. “Erm, not that great, Hermione. You see, I don’t really know where I am.”

Hermione eyed him with concern. “I don’t understand.”

“Well I woke up and there was music and then there was a snake and Malfoy and pancakes and-“ Harry blurted out incoherently.

“Hey, slow down,” Hermione said calmly. “Now, start from the beginning.”

So Harry told her everything. The more he spoke the deeper her frown became until he finally finished.

“What do I do, Hermione?”

“You’ve got to stay calm, Harry. It sounds as if you’re under some kind of spell. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Harry thought. He remembered going to bed, dreading being woken up again by countless nightmares, remembered being at Ron and Hermione’s getting ready to go out. Where were they going? Somewhere outside – he remembered wrapping up warm and travelling by floo to a small village. He remembered lights and noise and smells and a giant flashing wheel.

“I think I was at a fair?” Harry said uncertainly.

Hermione’s face lit up. “Yes! Harry, we went to a fair ages ago. Must have been four or five years ago. That’s the last thing you remember?”

Harry nodded. “What happened that night? Maybe it’ll jog my memory.”

“Well we met Draco there – you were really unhappy about that,” she said with a smile. “If I recall you and Ron ate an excessive amount of treacle tart, we went on a few rides, I think you went to see a fortune teller but you wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d said-“

“That’s it!” Harry shouted, making Hermione jump. “The fortune teller! She told me my future and said that maybe I just needed a push in the right direction. She said that to help me she’d show me a glimpse of my future…”

Harry trailed off. So that was what this was? This is what his future could be? Just as he was trying to figure out how to feel about that, Hermione spoke.

“If that’s true, Harry, then I’m sure you’ll be back in your own timeline soon. These spells never last very long. Probably just until you fall asleep.”

Harry nodded, the fog of confusion back and muddling his thoughts.

“Can I just say one thing, though?” Hermione asked. “I can see the cogs in your brain whirling and if you’re scared about this being your future, don’t be. I’ve seen how happy you are with Draco. You two are made for each other. Just give him until the end of the day to convince you of that. Ok?”

Harry nodded once again and the floo connection cut off. He groaned as he stood up, his legs protesting at the rough treatment of having to kneel on such a hard surface for so long. Harry took a deep breath. Time to re-join the person who I could be spending my future with, he thought with a slightly hysterical laugh.

Stepping out into the hallway, a hissing voice reached out to him.

“Has the one with the black scales brought me some tasty frogs?” Achilles asked hopefully, raising its coils up from the shallow pond.

Harry shook his head. “Sorry. Apparently you’ve already been fed this morning. I’ve been told not to trust you anymore.”

Achilles sank back down in resignation.

Harry went to walk back into the kitchen but was stopped short by the sight of Malfoy leaning against the doorway. He was watching Harry with a predatory gaze, the kind of look that made Harry want to run away and move closer at the same time.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Malfoy tutted. “You know what speaking in Parseltongue does to me.”

“Wh- what does it do?” Harry gulped, the way Malfoy’s were raking up and down his body making him feel naked.

Malfoy pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered over to crowd Harry against the wall. He placed his hands on Harry’s sides, scratching his fingernails lightly over ribs, and pushed his hips forward to meet Harry’s. “This is what it does to me,” Malfoy almost growled in his ear.  
Harry gasped. Malfoy was hard against him. He could feel himself lengthening in response and threw his head back as Malfoy began peppering kisses over Harry’s neck. Hands roamed over his arms, shoulders and chest, before settling to grip his backside, the scraping of nails providing the perfect pain to accompany the pleasure of warm lips ravaging his neck. The lips travelled upwards until they met Harry’s own. Finally, Harry thought, as he opened his mouth under the assault and allowed his tongue to intertwine with Malfoy’s. Thoughts of “what the fuck am I doing?” vanished as quickly as they had appeared as Harry lost himself in the feel of Malfoy’s body against his own, the feel of his lips and tongue and – oh my god! – cock.

When Malfoy pulled away, Harry only just managed to hold in the groan. “I’ve got an idea,” Malfoy said, licking his lips suggestively. “Why don’t we move this to the shower.”

Harry showed no resistance as Malfoy guided him upstairs by the hand, pulling him into the same bedroom as he had woken up in and through into the en suite he had no idea even existed. He raised his arms as Malfoy hurried to undress them both, trying and failing not to stare when Malfoy threw off pyjamas to reveal stunning, porcelain skin that Harry itched to touch. When Malfoy stepped under the hot mist of the shower and held a hand out invitingly, Harry’s willpower snapped. Who cared if this wasn’t his life? Shouldn’t he at least make the most of it while he was here? And hell, it could be his life if he wanted it.

But before the confusing thoughts could continue, Malfoy was on him again. His soapy hands were running all over Harry’s body, everywhere but the place Harry most wanted them to be. As if he could sense this, Malfoy smirked.

“What’s wrong, Harry,” he whispered throatily. “Is there something you want?”

When Malfoy’s fingers trailed down to stroke his inner thigh, Harry stopped trying to resist. “My cock,” he begged. “Please.”

“My, my. Such pretty manners,” Malfoy praised as his hand moved to grasp Harry’s length.

Harry shouted out in pleasure. It had been so long since he’d been touched by someone other than himself. Being Harry Potter wasn’t really conducive to one-night stands and there had been no one since Ginny who had been worth the risk. But this was something else.

Just when Harry thought that this couldn’t get any better, Malfoy released him, repositioned himself and reached down to grab both of them together. Harry’s eyes rolled back and he braced himself against the wall, legs weak with spine-tingling pleasure. Malfoy’s hand was slick and moved with ease, generating delicious friction between them until Harry could take it no longer. He groaned as he came hard, riding out the waves under Malfoy’s relentless pace, until Malfoy himself shook and threw his head back with a moan.

They stood there like that, under the water as they regained breath. Malfoy’s hands traced circles on Harry’s hips and Harry finally got a chance to touch Malfoy’s pale skin, his fingers trailing over biceps and shoulders and running over dusky pink nipples. He discovered that Malfoy was ticklish if you stroked him in just the right place under his armpit, that he flushed down to his chest after he came and that his hair turned a breath-taking shade of gold when wet. This could be mine, Harry thought. And the thing was, he wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want it anymore.

\-------

“Urgh,” Malfoy groaned, slamming another kitchen cupboard shut. “I can’t be bothered to cook tonight. Shall we just get a takeaway?” He looked at Harry pleadingly.

Harry smiled, still not used to seeing Malfoy do anything but scowl and sneer. “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Yes!” Malfoy cheered. “Then we’re having Indian. It’s been ages since I’ve had a good vindaloo.”

“A vindaloo? Isn’t that a bit spicy?” Harry asked doubtfully.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Thank you very much for your input, Mr I-have-a-tikka-masala-every-time, but, unlike you with your delicate sensibilities, I’m actually adventurous when it comes to trying different food.”

Harry chuckled. Yes, this Malfoy was definitely not what he had expected but, as the evening wore on, as they demolished curries and rice and naan and settled down with a bottle of wine, Harry began to realise that this might be the Malfoy he wanted.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry slurred, already a glass and a half of wine down and counting. Somehow he had ended up with his head on Malfoy’s shoulder and didn’t quite have the energy or the inclination to move just yet.

“You already did but go on,” Malfoy smirked.

With a roll of his eyes, Harry asked, “How did we get here?”

Malfoy sighed. “I know, I sometimes wonder that myself. How did two people who hated each other so much get to this point? The truth is, Harry, I don’t think I ever really hated you. I think I was jealous and angry and resentful but, after the war, that all just seemed so… insignificant.” Malfoy took a sip of wine and swirled his glass as he continued. “After that, I must confess that I developed a bit of a crush! Hermione and Ron spoke about you a lot, of course, and I think they had an inkling about how I felt so they just kept trying to find ways of getting us to meet. Me coming along to the fair was their idea. Merlin, that was a disaster at first! I remember you being so guarded, almost like you thought I was going to summon the Dark Lord there and then!” He chuckled, stroking Harry’s hair away from his forehead with a free hand. “And that photo booth! I was so embarrassed, seeing myself staring at you like a smitten teenager. But then you seemed to warm to me. You wowed me with your charms and I was gone.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully before grinning. “You really had a crush on me?”

“Urghh,” Malfoy moaned. “I should have known that would be the part you’d pick up on. Now I’m never going to hear that end of it!”

Harry smiled but relaxed against Malfoy’s shoulder. He thought about what Hermione had said, about giving Malfoy a chance to convince him that they could be happy together. Exactly when it had shifted Harry had no idea, but there was no doubt left in his mind that he could be happy with this person.

“Draco?” Harry said, raising his head and peering into warm grey eyes. The face that he met was so familiar and yet old memories of scowls and sneers had been replaced by new ones of smiles and laughter and moans of pleasure. “I had a really great day today.”

Draco smiled at him. “Me too, Harry.” He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Harry’s lips. “And plenty more like it to come.”

Yes, Harry thought, as he closed his eyes. Because now he knew what he wanted and he was damned if he was going to let it slip away.

\-------

Harry blinked as the flashing lights and bright colours assaulted his eyes. He stared at the people and sights around him, trying to orientate himself. Yes, he was back at the fair. The old witch’s spell had worked. He had seen his future and now had the chance to make it happen. What was it she had said? “So if you want, you must not falter, your future lies within your hand.” Then that was exactly what he was going to do.

He looked out towards the direction Hermione, Ron and Draco had headed in, hoping that he’d be able to find them in the bustling crowd. A sharp crinkling in his hand, however, made him pause. Harry glanced down and opened his fist to reveal the photo they had taken earlier in the evening. So this was what had made Draco so embarrassed. He took a closer look and smiled, watching as the photo looped again and again: Hermione and Ron giggling together, himself grimacing and squashed awkwardly into the corner and Draco, who could never seem to take his eyes off of Harry. A warm feeling erupted in his chest and he strode out into the fair, more determined than ever.

Suddenly, a bright head of hair caught his eye.

“Harry! Over here,” shouted Ron. “You’re just in time, mate. We were just about to get some treacle tart.”

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned with a knowing chuckle.

“How was the fortune teller?” Hermione asked sceptically.

Harry smirked. “It was pretty good.”

He turned to Draco, who seemed startled to be receiving Harry’s full attention, and took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to go on the ferris wheel with me afterwards?”

“Oh! Er, yes! That would be-“ Draco stammered, his face flushing in a very familiar way, “that would be nice.”

Harry ignored the loaded look that Hermione and Ron sent each other and smiled at Draco. “Great. Now, did someone say something about treacle tart?”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are love!


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